


a shadow under this red rock

by watername



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:45:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watername/pseuds/watername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there are no winners in war - courtesy of prompt from conniecorleone: "Cho/Viktor, to the victor, the spoils."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a shadow under this red rock

Voldemort has been killed.

There is a slew of celebrations across the world, but there is even more rebuilding. Cho spends her first night comforting her mother, quiet words settling around them like a blanket.

(Her mother had crumpled against the doorframe as Cho walked down the path to their home, a pair of shoes clasped in one hand as her feet sunk into the mud. She reached out with steady hands that slowly began to shake as her child gathered her into her arms)

Nations away, Viktor sits at home, the магьоснически дневно, strewn on the floor. One politician screams noiselessly at another in one corner peeking out under another page, while firecrackers twinkle in black-and-white on the front cover. His home sits empty - both his father and mother had fled weeks ago, and even he hasn’t been able to find him.

(Apparently he did not bring his country enough glory to help him find his parents.)

________________________________________________________

as the weeks unfold like a paper doll pulled apart, it is not his country alone in its powerlessness

________________________________________________________

Cho goes on. She helps her mother replant the garden. She watches the Daily Prophet more warily than she ever before, and takes her wand with her everywhere. At night, she remembers the smell of blood in the air, and nearly blows open the window at the howling of a wolf.

She thinks of Professor Lupin, and his wife, and his child, and feels ashamed. But she does not sleep the rest of the night.

She takes her mother to London to see about restitution, or perhaps just to move. There is unrest in the streets, in the very air, from Muggles and wizards and witches alike, heavy and heady. The faces she passes on the street veer wildly - one smiles brightly, while the next cannot even meet her gaze. She holds her mother’s hand tightly as they wait at the corner. The Ministry has limited its hours, and she has identified at least 12 other families who must be waiting as well - anxiety marked across every line.

________________________________________________________

Viktor has found that there is nothing to be done at the Ministry - Bulgarian, Romanian, Greek - it makes no matter. It seems at each there is a person stationed to turn them away. The excuses are different only in the veneer: it is plain to see that the various wizarding governments have managed to become even more useless. He comes away from the Albanian ministry convinced that no one will admit that they have lost.

He knows that Voldemort has been defeated - a letter from Hermione - neatly printed across paper smudged - had attested to it. If there is anyone in the world he can believe in this, it’s her. But it does not seem right to call anyone victorious.

He at last makes it to England. It is on the edge of where he will try, with only the tiny Icelandic ministry lying beyond. He squares his shoulders and searches for the phonebooth he had used only once years ago. It is surprisingly easy to find.

It is also broken. He reaches out and draws his finger along the RESTRICTED ACCESS tape wrapped around it. So it is. He will return home.

"Excuse me?" a voice speaks up behind him, with a finger tapping on his shoulder. "That phone’s out of order. If you’d like, there’s another one around the corner-"

Viktor turns around, only half-aware of what he will say. He hopes that his face is not as plain as he feels it is, for he does not want sympathy from a Muggle who only knows dully what has happened.

"Yes, I - I know you," he blinks, surprised. The Tri-Wizard Tournament stands in his mind as the beginning of the end, even if it was not clear as such until three years later. She was the rescue of Diggory. A look of uncertainty cracks across her face before recognition settles in - distant, but clear enough.

"Krum - from the - the tournament?" Even yet, it still stings her to think about it. She prefers to remember Hogwarts as the pristine school from her first three years, as unattainable such a delusion is.

He nods in response, and looks over her shoulder. "I am sorry. You are with someone."

Cho looks behind her, and sees her mother, arms crossed as she gazes at a group of schoolchildren. A pang forms in her chest before she clears her throat.

"Yes - my mother," she watches the expression on his face cloud over suddenly, and it strikes her that he has no reason to be her - alone, in the shatterdust of a country not his own, coming to a government anyone with sense would realize is only as powerful as you persuade yourself it is. She holds out her hand cautiously to him.

"Is this where you want to be?"

He laughs, ungracefully and almost choking, before responding, “There is nowhere I want to be.”

At that she can smile, as small as it may be. She half-turns her body and gestures towards her the remains of her family, still standing.

"Then you may as well be with us."

________________________________________________________

England rebuilds. Bulgaria rebuilds. She and he lay up the brick of each other and one day they hope that they may even be victorious in a war long-concluded.

**Author's Note:**

> I have completely mutilated Bulgarian. My apologies.


End file.
